


Down to Fix

by Weavillain



Category: The Loud House (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Lemon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weavillain/pseuds/Weavillain
Summary: Once again, your house decides to fall apart on you. It’s times like these when you realize that it’s a good thing that you know the right woman for the job.





	1. Chapter 1

Your weekday mornings start off the same way that they always do—a thermos of fresh, pipping hot coffee in one hand, the keys to your ‘18 Rolls-Royce Phantom in the other, and the brightest, widest grin on your face as you prepare for another rousing day at the used car dealership that you own.

…

Pfft, as if. No, that’s how your _boss’_ days start (you know because the smug asshole can never stop bragging about them whenever you’re trying to enjoy your oh-so elegant cuisine of egg salad sandwiches, shrimp ramen, and ninety-nine cent cola during your thirty-minute lunch breaks).

Instead, _you_ get the usual misery of being grabbed by the scruff of your neck and forcibly yanked out of the comfort of your sweet dreams, thanks to the electronic screeching from the world’s most annoying alarm clock. What always follows is a miserable groan, spurred from the aches and pains that have yet to melt away from _yesterday’s_ aggravating shift _and_ the fact that your work as a used car salesman has yet to get any better after seven long months.

As far as you’re concerned, if the guy who came up with that “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” bullshit was still alive, he needed a good smack across the face with a Webster dictionary. No, scratch that—that prick needed _two_ smacks (one out of moral necessity and one out of spite).

There’s absolutely nothing invigorating about standing in a car lot in either the coldest or hottest weather that Royal Woods has to offer for nearly ten hours, praying that the next person to come by isn’t just another window shopper that’s “just looking around”.

Like, seriously, you really don’t need that shit. Car sales are how you get paid, after all, and you need every penny to pay the bills for your crappy little townhouse in the outskirts of town.

With another groan, you stretch your arms above your head and wince as several pops click from your stiff shoulder blades. Once you stumble out of your twin-sized bed, your toes are next to crack as your feet land on the shaggy, stained carpeting of your bedroom. You don’t even bother to turn that damned clock off as you make your way to the bathroom (quite frankly, the noise is the only thing that can keep you up shortly after waking up at seven in the morning).

Within a few minutes, you’re staring at your weary reflection in your cracked mirror as you brush your teeth and wonder if you need to do something about your five o’clock shadow.

But your deep musing gets interrupted by the sound of nearby... _dripping_. Even though you’re still groggy from just waking up, you know it can’t be from the faucet of running water that’s currently jetting out of it.

Your next guess is that it’s from the showerhead, and it sounds like the most plausible source when you really think about it. Still, you’re not curious enough to go check it out right now because not only are you gonna hop in the shower in about a minute, anyway, but you need to get back to polishing your teeth before you have to march out in 87° F weather and don the most convincing, car-selling smile as you can while you repress the urge either cry or hijack one of the cars and drive it through your boss’s office.

But before you can chuckle at how funny the angry look on his fat face would be if you were to do the latter, the dripping noise increases…

...both in speed and in volume.

This time, you’re inspired to give a cursory look around your surroundings, but your listless inspection finds nothing amiss. Sure, there’s that thick crack in the ceiling above the toilet, but it’s not like it hasn’t _always_ been there.

Even though, now that you’re really looking at it, it looks a little damper than it usually does.

And, uh, a little... _drippier_ , too.

Wait a second...it’s… _never_ been drippy before.

…

…

_‘Oh shi-’_

You instinctively (and unnecessarily) take cover by dropping your toothbrush on the floor to hurriedly cover your head, but the damage begins before you can blink. A heavy rush of dank water swooshes through the ceiling’s crevice, boring a sizable hole through the plaster. It doesn’t take long before a shallow pool builds up on the floor, submerging your feet ( _eeeeeeew!_ )

It takes you a couple seconds before you realize that, hey, maybe the running water of your faucet might have something to do with this. You give the thought practice by turning off the handle and watch as, lo and behold, the stream finally peters off to a measly tinkle that eventually dies off.

You take a moment to gather your wits, and cap off these events with nothing more than a sigh. Had this happened within the first few weeks of you moving in, you would’ve spent your time pulling out your hair and screaming curses into your pillow. But by now, you’re used to your comfy little abode giving you a new problem to worry about paying for just about every week.

And...in a weird sort of way, this might be exactly what you need. After all, you think to yourself with the first smile you’ve had on your face in days, what better reason was there for Lana Loud, Royal Woods’ best handywoman, to drop by and give you some much needed company?

One of these days, you have to thank your co-worker (Skippy, was it?) for giving you her business card after you griped to him about your fridge handle snapping off like a dry twig. For now, you knew you were looking forward to making a certain phone call after your shift from hell ends.

* * *

You’re usually in bed by ten o’clock, ready to sleep off the ass whooping that work gave you to get yourself ready for the one that’s got your name on it the very next day. Instead, you’re leaning back in your ratty living room recliner with a stupid-looking smile on your face, your scratched-up feature phone loosely dangling in your fingers.

It’s been four minutes since Lana got off the phone with you, and yet it still feels like you just got out of a warm bubble bath surrounded by apple cinnamon-scented candles.

...

Mmmmmm...wouldn’t _that_ be nice? You on one end of the tub with her on the other? Nothing but idle conversation and passionate, knowing gazes between you two before you both got out of the water and slowly ravished each other’s wet, slick…

You feel your britches getting tight, and you snap out of it at once. You have to remind yourself that these past few months of her coming over to fix your shoddy house are nothing more than business appointments that have absolutely no room for you to get your hopes up.

Or...anything _else_ up, for that matter. But dammit, Lana never makes it easy.

Maybe if she were _just_ a sight for sore eyes (and how!), the most you’d have to contend with were your roaming eyes that appreciated the flow of her blonde hair running down her back, the moderate swell of her breasts, the thick width of her hips, the suppleness of her thighs, and...dat ass underneath that skin-tight pair of paint-stained overalls when you knew she couldn’t catch you ogling at her like a horny schoolboy.

Except she also has to be...well, charming. _Very_ charming, in fact. And no, you can spot the difference between genuine friendliness and an act. Not once has she felt like she was one of those floozy waitresses at a skimpy eatery, putting on a show of flirty amiability for the customers just for a tip.

Instead, she invites you in, like a close friend wanting to catch up. Whether she’s keeping you up to date with her family or she’s letting you vent about how much you wanna slug your boss right in his droopy, walrus-like jowls, it’s like there’s more vested interest in talking with you rather than thinking about the money a job well done owes her.

Oh, and about that money? Her rates are _always_ what you can afford, no matter what new grievance your house decides to give you. It’s almost enough to make you wanna grab her by the shoulders and pull her in for a kiss.

 _Almost_. Kissing her out of the blue was less of a gamble than manning up and asking her out, but not you’re not even willing to do _that_. It’s not even that it’d be scary to try—that would imply that you actually had a chance in hell.

…

But you don’t. What was there to love in a down-on-his-luck, used car salesman, after all?

It’s a mystery to you that she’d ever want to do more than just patch up your dingy home, but you’re not about the shove your head into the gift horse’s mouth in the quest for answers. Instead, you realize your limits and thank your lucky stars that she’s given you the time of day at all.

You break away from your thoughts to turn on your phone and read the time. With an amused chuckle, you realize that thinking about Lana’s kept you up nearly forty minutes after your usual bedtime. With a half-hearted, self-reprimanding shake of the head, you get up and make a slow stride to your bedroom.

With it being Wednesday, you know you’ll have to survive two more days of misery before she finally comes over and gives your frayed nerves some sweet relief.

But for now, it was time for your back to be reacquainted with your hole-ridden, spring-punctured mattress.

Oh joy.


	2. Chapter 2

On Saturday afternoon, you find yourself downstairs in the kitchen with your feet tapping restlessly on the floor while you're seated at your wooden dining table—it's embedded with enough splinters to raise a hundred mutant turtles.

...

God, not even _you_ can laugh at that joke. That one joke-loving sister that Lana likes to bring up sometimes (eh...Luna, right?) might enjoy them casually, but that awful pun of yours was nothing more than a desperate attempt to _lighten the fuck up_.

Because you really don't need your giddy nervousness to eat you alive (even if you're in the right room of the house for eating to take place).

You think about chowing down on something before your "honored guest" arrives, but then you think better of it when you realize that you'd probably just barf up whatever you try to shovel down your piehole. Not because of the taste (you're not _that_ bad at cooking) but because you're gut's constricted by an anaconda vice of coiled nerves.

As it turns out, nothing's changed all that much since Wednesday because you're _still_ a bit of a basket case over a certain pretty plumber you've grown to...really like. You wonder if now's the time to cancel your appointment with Lana, book a therapy session with one of those German psychologists (the ones who have a fetish for handlebar mustaches and corn cob pipes, it seems), and get yourself evaluated ASAP before you make a fool of yourself and lose the respect from one of the few people you give a rat's ass about.

So, with another deep, steadying breath, you try to keep it together as you take another quick glance at your digital wristwatch.

_12:21 pm._

Huh. It read the same time as it did when you checked five seconds ago.

And the five seconds before that.

And the five seconds before that.

And the five seconds befo...hey, look at that! It's 12:22 now. Only eight more minutes to go, you remind yourself. That's not so bad. Surely, you can pull yourself together in that amount o-

_*bzzzzt*_

Aaaaaand there goes your doorbell...and your thumping heartbeat.

Either those bratty girl scouts are making another round through the neighborhood and want to peddle more boxes of their nasty coconut crème cookies or Lana's decided to grace you with your presence a little earlier than expected.

You get your answer soon enough when you dare to take a peek through your kitchen window blinds and see…

... _her_.

From this angle, you can only make out the side of her figure. Still, that backwards red cap, that messy blonde hair, and that...hand that's reaching down to her butt to give it a quick scratch is unmistakably Lana.

What's also unmistakable is that it's been thirty seconds since you spotted her, and you're _still_ leering at her like...like something you probably wouldn't want to think about if you had the chance.

_*bzzzzt*_

You hurriedly back away from the window, both from the noise and the flash of an impatient frown that crossed her face just now.

Shit. That's right. It's almost like you have a door to answer or something.

So, you do yourself a favor and get to that door opening thing you've heard so much about in no time flat. A bright beam of sunlight spills through your house as the door swings opens, and you couldn't find it any more fitting—after all, what better way for an angel to make her presence felt?

" _There_ you are, hoss!" Lana cries, flashing a gorgeous grin.

You try not to blush and smile like a cheeseball from hearing that nickname come out through her usual husky timbre of cuteness, but you can't help yourself.

Just like always.

She uses the hand that's not holding her shiny toolbox to gently bump you in the shoulder as she smirks at you with playful delight in her eyes.

"For a second, I thought you must've been taking a wicked shit or something. I would've swung by the Burpin' Burger and gotten some grub if that was the case."

Ah, banter. See, _this_ is what you can enjoy about her without the chance of looking like a fool. Case in point, you already have a retort in store when you ask her if she would've gotten you anything had she decided to do that.

"Of course," she says as she brushes past you after closing the door, the brief friction of her body grinding against you and tickling your insides with flickering flames. "I would've saved you a few crumbs to lick off the burger wrapper."

You take a moment to swallow and steel your nerves after that literal brush with paradise before she bends over to put the toolbox down. You can't help but wonder (with aimless, desperate hope) if she went and did that on purpose—given the beautiful bounty of booty that she just showed off—but you're not curious enough to ask her directly once she turns around and faces you.

Phew. Thank fucking Christ she finds your eyes more appealing than the conspicuous bulge in your black sweatpants, too.

"But since I'm here _now_ , _you_ can do me the honors of feeding me."

You can't tell if she's kidding or not (either way is fine with you), so you ask her if she's really hungry.

"Yeah. I haven't really gotten the chance to eat much of anything since that bowl of corn flakes this morning," Lana admits. "After I woke up and ate, Lincoln and I kept each other busy for nearly three hours on the phone to catch up. Heh, I guess even big-shot cartoonists can take a break from their work and afford to make a call every now and then."

You chuckle. You'll keep your not so flattering opinions to yourself, but you can't exactly think highly of a cartoon about a boy rabbit that has to survive in a household of twenty plus rabbit sisters. You guess it's good for the kids and shit but...eh.

But whatever. It's just your dumb opinion. What did you know about cartoons, anyway? The only one you give half a shit about gets mocked online for going way beyond the point of seasonal rot and for the show's fans going crazy over a fast food restaurant's goddamn dipping sauce all those years ago.

You'll hold onto the fact that you were one of those dumbass fans to the grave.

"Anyways," Lana continues, absentmindedly reaching under her hat to give her scalp a scratch, "after that, I realized that I didn't have time to do anything else because I had to book it here and take care of those 'goddamned pipes' you were making such a fuss about."

Her tone conveys nothing to suggest that she's blaming you, but you still can't help but feel like shit for indirectly inconveniencing her. With a bowed head and a wilted posture, you say that you're sorry for putting her in a bad spot.

Without missing a beat, she dons another heart-fluttering smile.

"Ah, don't worry about it. You're basically the reason my handywoman business is a success in the first place."

You're already recovering from your little funk from those words alone, but she boosts your morale to its fullest when she lets out a hearty laugh from her joke. It's infectious enough to make you laugh along.

Maybe even infectious enough to get you to stop dawdling and just admit to her that you've got feelings for her alre-

"By the way," Lana says, unknowingly interrupting your delusions of grandeur, "I was only kidding about you giving me any of your food. I know you gotta make ends meet with just _one_ mouth to feed."

You're quick to insist that you'd be more than happy to give her whatever she needs to feel whole.

It wasn't like she wasn't doing that with you just by being around.

"Really? You sure, man?"

You give her a nod and show off a little with a snort and a nonchalant shrug.

And with a few steps forward, she shuts down your moxie just like that, leaving your nearly breathless as moves in close and looks up at you. From the close proximity, you can feel her warm breath feathering over your throat through her breaths, and you try to will your arms into not sprouting goosebumps and for your cock to behave itself right the fuck now because going full mast would only spell disaster.

As far as you're concerned, there's nothing about this situation that warrants a laugh from either of you, but you hear the melodious ring of Lana's giggle rippling in your ears, anyway. She takes her hand and lifts it up towards your face. The already blazing blush on your face burns hotter when its thumb and pointer finger softly pinch the flesh of your cheek and give it a jiggle.

Without any stubble to get in the way of her pleasantly rough digits, you're grateful that you decided to shave away your five o'clock shadow, after all.

"Well, look at you being all nice to me, you big 'ol softie," she teases. "I guess I should do something about that one of these days, huh?"

Before you can even think about trying to brush off her unexpected (but not unwelcome) gesture of intimate affection with a quip, her fingers flutter away and she knocks you back a bit with a hip check. She laughs as she watches you stumble, then marches towards her toolbox.

Just in the nick of time, you think to yourself, and you thank your lucky stars that she didn't bump herself directly into your groin just now—you can't think of anything else that would come close to being both the best and worst moment of your life.

"Welp, time to get to work!" she shouts with mirth and grabs the container.

She approaches your staircase, but pauses just before she can put her foot on the step.

"You know," she tells you from over her shoulder, "I just realized that I'm probably gonna need a stepladder to get to your ceiling. You mind running out to my truck and getting it for me?"

Now that your dick's done greedily sucking up blood from your brain through a bendy straw like it was a box of Hi-C, you have the mental capacity to joke about expecting pay for the assisted manual labor. Lana just rolls her eyes and snickers at you before she saunters up your stairs—seeing as how your boner almost got you in trouble just a few moments ago, you do the smart thing and not stare at her bouncing derrière as its owner disappears from view.

Even if you really want to.

You do as you're told (you swear you're not whipped or anything) and step outside. You spot her red pickup truck and the stepladder poking out from the cargo area. It doesn't take long for you to have the little bastard tucked under your arm, and as you walk towards the front door, you wonder if you could make a little show of your muscle by hauling it on your shoulder.

After all, she does like to call you "hoss".

But then, you realize that trying to show off your strength with a paltry twenty pound hunk of metal was like trying to...eh, you don't know. You suppose that this is as low as it gets to trying to win a girl over.

Shit, weren't you supposed to not be doing that?

By the time you've throughly put yourself through the ringer for being a dumbass, you're halfway up the stairs. You pause, not advancing any further when you hear Lana calling out to you from your bathroom.

"Is that you, hoss?"

An oh-so witty joke runs through your head. You smirk and tell her that, no, you're a door-to-door salesman that's eager to introduce her to the bold, wonderful taste of your brand of steak sauce.

Your chest puffs out in pride when you hear her have a good laugh—not one laced in condescension or sarcastic amusement but of genuine enjoyment.

It feels better than any of the (very few) successful sales you've made all week. You only wish you could see the award winning smile that came with it.

But eventually, the laughter dies, and an abrupt warning follows suit.

"Hey, uh, you might wanna leave the ladder out in the hallway for me. Coming in here right now is nooooot a good idea. Just sayin'."

Although you haven't respected her advice enough to fall in line without a word, you trust that she has a good explanation when you ask her what she's talking about.

"I let one rip right before you came up here," she explains, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

You stand there in stunned silence for a second...

...and then you just shake your head and chuckle as you complete the rest of your ascent. Yeah, that was classic Lana to a tee, for better or worse. The girl had no shame "cutting loose" around you, though you can't help but find that...oddly endearing.

She wasn't afraid to own up to those little bursts of "ugliness" around you, perhaps thinking that you valued her way too much to let one nasty habit ruin your perception of her—surely, such boldness spoke of the kind of trust and confidence that she probably only had towards those she deems close to her.

...

...

Or maybe, you think to yourself as you lean the ladder against the wall and stride towards the staircase to head to the living room, it's probably best not to try and construct any sort of meaningful significance behind Lana Loud's farts.

Fucking weirdo.

* * *

Lana announces that she just finished with her work almost thirty minutes later from the top of the stairs. You decide not to keep her waiting and hurry on upstairs to the bathroom, both out of consideration for her time and relief from the boredom of nearly spending half an hour on your recliner while playing some shit ass, third party version of Pac-Man.

It doesn't come as a surprise to you when you find her standing below the hole in the ceiling, the pipes fixed as good as new—you've trusted Lana long enough to know that she'd be worth every penny.

So, you make sure to tell her that. The tiny, flattered blush that spreads across her face was more than worth the effort.

"Eh, it wasn't that big of a deal," Lana says, rubbing her arm. "Burst pipes are nothin' to write home about."

She breaks away from your gaze to point up at hole.

"Now, the drywall's a different story—that'll be way more time-consuming. Since you only wanted your pipes fixed, I'll have to come by later and mend that hole. It'll be a bit more costly, but I'll try to work something out with you."

Before either of you can say another word, Lana's stomach grumbles. She just chuckles and looks back at you.

"Guess it's lunch time," she says. "Last chance to back out before I clean out your fridge."

In no uncertain words, you tell her that she can pig out on whatever the hell she wants because she earned herself a good, wholesome meal.

Too bad your fridge is fresh out of those. Still, you'll give what you can.

"Suit yourself," she replies, whizzing by you as she makes a beeline for the kitchen.

Even though she didn't ask you to do it, you decide to go ahead and take the stepladder and toolbox that she left behind and carry it downstairs, anyway. You don't get a chance to decide where to put it before Lana calls out to you from the kitchen.

"Hey, hoss, you mind helping me get to that sliced bread loaf you got up on your fridge?"

You gingerly place your haul down, mosey over to the kitchen...

...and almost have a heart attack from the most adorable sight in the entire world. What was a one hour kitten compilation video in comparison to watching Lana on her tiptoes, straining to grab the loaf of bread that was out of her reach while making tiny squeaks and grunts of exertion?

Goddamn nothing, that's what.

Even still, you're not completely entranced enough to let her off the hook without a teasing quip. You suggest that he get the stepladder in here so that she could use it. You nearly choke on your spit as you hold back a laugh from the cute little scowl she throws at you when she turns around.

"You're hilarious," she grouses without malice. "I'm sure you and Luan would really get along with each other."

Dammit, so _Luan_ was the jokey sister. Ah well, at least you got the _letters_ in the name right.

You decided to call it quits on the teasing (for now, anyways) and get her what she was asking for. From there, you just hang back and let her do her thing as she hums to herself while making trips from your pantry to your fridge.

And even though she's literally right in front of you, you can't help but feel dread from the a sense of longing. Fuck, it's like you swallowed a bucketful of rocks, and the sickly feeling stays inside no matter how much hard you try to crap it out.

Because...you know that this is what you want, for her to make herself at home as she walks around and eats your food without a care in the world. It speaks of what _could_ be a daily sight, and you know that it'd be more than enough to help you live through another shitty day.

But you'd have to drag her down to your level to make that happen, and you love her too much to do that. Besides, what was here in this house, in this life, in... _you_ that would make her wanna stay in the first place? All you can do is hold onto these little treasures as long as they lasted.

But...dammit, you didn't want that to go away the minute it just dawned on you how much it meant. You know that Lana's gonna be out the door any minute now, once she's gotten her pay and her food, of course. There's nothing else keeping her around, nothing that would make her stay...

...except maybe the request of a friend who wants to have someone to talk to for just a few more minutes. It may have been a little selfish, but not even you care enough not to ask her to stick around for a little while.

"Really?" Lana asks, her heading sticking in your cabinets. "You just wanna...talk with me?"

Instead of confirming directly with a simple "yes", you admit that...yeah, it'd be real cool if she could hang around for a bit.

She doesn't reply right away. Instead, she pulls herself away from the cabinet and spins around to look at you. Without breaking away, she places her assorted lunch on the counter and grins at you.

"You're bein' real sweet with me today, you know that? If I didn't know any better..."

Your eyes widen as your heart gallops like a charging bull. Shit, did she figure you out? And if she did, she can't be anything but disgusted, right? How couldn't she be when you were nothing more than a-

"...I'd say you were trying to get me to decrease the rate of that job I did on your pipes."

Oh, thank the Lord. There was your ticket out of this, and not a moment too soon. You plaster an unconvincing, innocent grin on your face as you force out nervous laughs in an attempt to play the role of someone who was caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Don't deny it. You're not slick," Lana says smugly. "And just for trying to pull a fast one on me, I'm gonna grab _two_ cans of your root beer. That'll teach you."

After sticking out her tongue at you, she makes good on her word and raids your fridge in accordance to what your "treachery" deserved.

It's a small price to pay, but it's worth it just to make her smile.

And to keep you from falling apart at the seams.

* * *

Lana's gas passing is...tolerable—you've had the fortune of almost never being in its line of trajectory.

You're not a fan of her nose picking, but at least she has the courtesy not to wipe it on anything that you own.

This, though? Yeah...this is way too fucking gross, no two ways about it.

You don't care how content Lana looks right now, scarfing down on your food like it's the first meal she's had in years—there is no goddamn way in hell that you can stomach another second of her noiselessly wolfing down the most disgusting sandwich you've ever seen in your life.

You didn't really know _what_ to expect about a minute ago, as you waited for to join you on your couch. You knew you two would get down to talking eventually, but you honestly didn't expect for her to bring... _that_ repulsive thing in here.

After another big bite, you've finally reached your limit, and you slip a hand over your eyes. You can still imagine all those grimy little crumbs flying every which way—spilling out of her mouth with wild abandon with those noisy chomps and gulps—but at least it helps somewhat.

...

Fuck, who are you kidding?! No, it doesn't!

A few minutes later, the carnage finally ends with Lana letting out a giant belch and a satisfied sigh.

"Woo! Man, that hit the spot!" she cries, patting her belly. "Thanks!"

You pull your hand away from your face, hoping that showing your disapproving glare can convey all the levels of "not cool" all of that was.

Instead, she just lets out a "pssh", as if to poke fun at your lack of fortitude.

"Don't knock pickled beets, turkey, horseradish sauce, and swiss cheese until you try it."

You'd rather try shoe on rye than that monstrosity.

You'd rather get your balls stomped on by someone wearing spiky tennis cleats than take one bite.

You'd rather...just get to talking to this wonderful woman like you wanted to from the get-go.

She beats you to the punch before you can say a word, however, as she dusts the crumbs off her hands by wiping them on her overalls.

"Hey, you mind if I do something to you real quick?" she asks.

Her vagueness prods at your curiosity, but what she does next downright ensnares it. She slips off the couch, and gets on her knees in front of you.

Before you can begin to think about what her position could mean in a far less...innocent context, you ask her what her deal is.

Politely, of course.

Lana taps her chin with her finger while looking up at the ceiling. "Hmmmm...can't say."

She makes sure to grin cheekily at you to top it off. You just stare blankly at her with your arms folded.

"Aw, come on, you'll like it. Now quit bein' a baby."

Without waiting for your approval or for your mood to change, she's already slipping your sandals off your feet. You really start to pay attention after she pulls the last one off, and tosses it over her shoulder.

You watch as she cracks her knuckles, wiggles her fingers, and brings her hands over to your left foot. Before you can brace yourself for what you're almost certain is about to come next, her thumbs are pushing into the balls of your foot, sweeping over them with firm strokes.

You instantly melt into a puddle and sigh, sinking into your seat as if you were melding into a pool of quicksand. The pads of her fingers are rough with a few calluses here and there, but it feels fucking divine, regardless.

Now her hands are pressing into the arch, her fingers taking turns between heavy pushing and light tapping. Despite yourself, you let out another groan. Through your half-lidded eyes, you can see the proud smile on Lana's face as she admires her handiwork through the noises you make.

"See? I told you you'd like it. Take this as a 'thank you' for the food."

She uses one of her hands to grab onto the heel while she takes the other hand and plays over the joint of your ankles, tracing over and around them. Then, she stops to gently roll your foot around, eliciting both clicks from the joints and blissful tremors from the middle of your spine.

You can't deny that her massage is making you feel warm in...certain places, but your sense of modesty checked out a _looooooong_ ass time ago. Besides, she's too engrossed in your work to give the front of your pants the time of day.

"You're always talking about how you need those relief insoles for your shoes because of your job. I figured you could use more _effective_ relief." She smirks when she manages to pop out another click from your foot and another low groan from you at the same time. "Looks like I was right."

Oh, she's right, alright. It's just that you're so used to feeling twisted up in a pretzel that you hardly pay any attention.

Just when you don't think things can get much better than this, she starts tugging on your toes and sliding her palms along the side of your foot. Man, was there anything that her hands _couldn't_ fix up? You're certain she can give sight to the blind with hands like these.

She gives your sole a few knuckle-twisting thrusts, the last one being the deepest and hardest of them all—that one nearly got you to moan.

After that, she takes a minute to loosen up her fingers before she begins the same treatment on your right foot.

"So, hoss, how've you been holding up?" Lana asks, looking away from your foot to give you her undivided attention.

Though your reply comes out as somewhat of a dazed, happy slur, you're still able to make sure that she knows that you want to hear from her.

"Eh, I've babbled about myself enough lately. I wanna hear what _you've_ been up to."

You know it's going to be difficult to think of anywhere to start, at least from a place that would interest her, and her current pampering was only going to make it harder for you to concentrate. With a heavy heart, you tell her to put a halt on her foot rub so that you could think straight.

Ever the helpful friend, she gives you something to work with once she takes her hands away.

"Tell me about the worst customer you had all week," she says as she reaches for the unopened can of root beer that was by your feet. "That should be fun."

You shoot her an incredulous look, not only because you doubt that she wants to hear you bitch about your job for the five billionth time but because going down that trip on memory lane sounded like the opposite of fun.

"Well, fun for _me_ , anyway," she admits with a shrug.

And quite frankly, that's enough for you. If she's gonna have a blast, then your only role in this is to man up about it.

Truthfully, you already have someone in mind. As often as you like to think that all the shitty experiences that you have at work just blend together, there were cases when a few jackasses were bad enough to stand out.

You begin to tell Lana about such a person—a middle aged woman with a horribly tacky pixie cut— who swung by on Tuesday. For nearly three hours, the dumb bitch had you by the balls as you led her around the lot, trying to find her the "perfect minivan" for her to pick up her "precious little babies" from soccer practice. Unfortunately, because her ideals were as vague as they came, you thought that you could show her just about anything suitable for travel, and she'd be satisfied.

Nope.

One van looked "too gaudy" because of the bright color. Another one was "too moody" because of the _dark_ color. Another one, one of the biggest on the lot, was "too dangerous" because of its big wheels. Yet another one was "too uneven" just because the passenger space came up to nine.

You don't regret telling Lana that you wanted to throw a brick at that dumb cow just for wasting your time for so long with such stupid bullshit. What made it worse was that she sounded like Fran Fine with strep throat, so all of that prattling was even more annoying than it had any right to be.

Speaking of Lana, she's having a ball right now. Her amused laughter is really the only reason why you could get through the story without wanting to break something. Still, you wonder which part of your story is so hilarious to her, so you ask.

"I was just thinking that that's _totally_ what Lynn's gonna end up being like when she has kids," Lana says right before she starts to lean her head back to take a drink from her root beer.

You wait for her to finish before you continue to speak again...

...and then the simple action turns into quite the snafu when the can slips out of her fingers and crashes onto her chest. Soda flies out and splashed on her clothes, quickly staining the fabric of her overalls and the gray shirt underneath.

As you'd expect from Lana, she brushes off the incident without much thought—what were a few stains to someone like her, after all?

You, on the other hand, aren't as resilient because your eyes instinctively look towards the stain and get more than what you bargained for.

Her...well-developed assets are outlined wonderfully from the way the wet fabric of her shirt clings around her mounds. It was hard enough not to ogle at them before, but you're far too spellbound to control yourself. You watch as the drops of root beer that weren't soaked in slowly glide down the smooth trek of her throat, slipping past her collarbone, and dribbling into the valley of her breasts.

"Hey."

With just one word, you freeze.

With just one question, your entire world spins off its axis:

"See something you like?"


	3. Chapter 3

You're dead—deader than a corpse, deader than a doornail, deader than goddamn disco.

There isn't any sugarcoating the depth of the hole you've dug for yourself by perving on your friend's tits like a slack-jawed, drooling dumbass, no matter how hard you're shutting your eyes and covering them with your hands in a last ditch effort to save face.

You always heard about how twins share similar characteristics and based on what you've heard about Lola, you know Lana's either gonna cave your skull in with her sledgehammer or castrate you with her power saw.

Or fuck, maybe she'll tear your balls off with her rusty pliers if she's even more indignant than you're giving her credit for.

It doesn't matter how calm she sounded with that last remark—you know better than to think it's anything except what's about to precede the most heinously gruesome (and well-deserved) murder in the entirety of Royal Woods' history.

You're too shaken and freaked out to see or hear anything over your hyperventilating breathing and your jackhammer-paced heartbeats, which is why you jump back in your seat and shriek like a scalded cat when you feel the faint pressure of a hand gently mold around your shoulder.

"Look at me."

You know that it's Lana standing over you, and yet you can't believe that she's anything but royally pissed off at you. You may owe her your compliance (and at least a hundred apologies, if she'd allow it), but you're too chickenshit to follow through all the way. And so, you do look up, but only after you've stopped shaking like a sugar-crazed five-year-old.

"That means you have to put your hands down."

Oh...that's right.  _Duh_.

You do so... _very slowly_. Your timid approach doesn't speak too well about your manhood, but that's nothing worth fussing over.

No, what Lana does next  _is_. By now, you've thought better to think that she'd actually torture you or savagely maul you to death (man, those late night horror movie marathons have done worse to you than you've thought). But in the end, what's actually possible is more terrifying than any of that.

She was gonna walk off on you, shutting the door to your house for the last time. In just a few moments, she'd tell you that that's what you deserve for treating her like a piece of meat instead of a friend. You could always bat away your guilty conscience by telling yourself the truth, that you'd appreciate Lana for who she was before anything else.

But that didn't seem like it would matter to Lana now. Great. Just fucking great. The best thing that's ever happened to you in forever was gonna tell you off and there was nothing you could do about i-

"Oh, for the love of..."

Evidently, Lana's sick and tired of you moving at the speed of a sloth, and she does all the heavy lifting for you by grabbing you by the wrists and yanking your hands away.

…

The tightness in your chest evaporates as you gaze at her. You have somewhat of a clue of what she's thinking by the way she's looking at you, but...that  _can't_  be. Is it just you or...or is she...

"It's okay. I'm not mad."

Her words confirm the tender expression she bears. It's like she's looking at you like you’re a feisty, feral kitten—she only wants to assure that she means no harm as she tries to get closer to you.

But just as you're falling into a peaceful trance by the beauty in her gentle eyes, they darken as a sly grin sprouts up.

"I mean, it's not like you haven't looked at 'em before. Might as well make it easier for you, right?"

You don't think it's possible for your face to feel hotter than it has in the last few hours, but it does. It feels like someone took a vat of hot wax and shoved your head inside of it. And the worst part is, despite how embarrassed you feel about being found out, she's not done rubbing it in.

"Oh yeah. I've known about the way you've been staring at me for a while now. You're really not all that subtle. Word to the wise: the next time you wanna check out my ass without being noticed, try not to do it when I'm working with my tool case. It's got this really nifty thing called a 'reflective surface'."

And now...now you're blushing for a different reason. You instantly recall how prior to you spazzing out like a fool, her words sounded like a sarcastic, eerily serene threat.

But with her laying into you like this, you understand that...she was  _teasing_  you. Lana Loud, apple of your eye, was giving you a pass for ogling her. You don't know how things could get better than that, despite how flustered you feel for being put on the spot.

"But like I said before, I'm not mad," Lana reassures.

She looks like she's about to say something else, but then she takes a pause instead. She looks down, as if to reconsider her thoughts.

And as if she wasn't done throwing you for a loop, her face brightens with a cute shade of red over her cheeks.

"Well...I guess if it were anyone  _else_ , I wouldn't take too kindly to it," she says with a smile.

You're suddenly made aware of hands as they move from your wrists, her fingers slithering up your arms and making your flesh prick with goose pimples. By the way her smoldering eyes intently gaze at you and the way her pretty little smirk curls up as she makes you shiver, you know that she knows exactly what she's doing.

The only question was whether there was more to her game than simple teasing—if the growing warmth in your groin had a voice, it would say that it certainly hoped so.

"So listen," she says once her hands snake around your neck and firmly clasp together, "if I haven't made myself clear enough, I'll say it like this."

You suck in a breath in surprise as she brings herself down, swinging one leg to the side of your hips before doing the same with the other. Your heart goes back to using your ribcage as a punching bag, but you're otherwise completely paralyzed, too stunned to do anything but stare in anxious awe as the girl of your dreams leans in.

You can't help but let out a tiny moan from how she's unintentionally rolling against your bulge.

But then, her giggle makes it clear that there's nothing "unintentional" going on at all.

Finally, she's literally right in your face, the tip of her nose brushing against yours. You can smell that rancid, pungent breath of that grody sandwich in her breath (something akin to the mixed scent of raw fish and burnt rubber), but it can't make you turn away.

 _Nothing_  could make you turn away, especially now that she's drawing her face towards your ear. Gusts of her warm breath wisp across your skin, then ignite your entire body in ecstasy when she sultrily whispers, "I wanna be your happy little grease monkey. You okay with that?"

Admittedly, it's a little hard to focus when her pretty little self is torturously rolling her hips against your crotch in wide, slow circles while she plays with the flesh of your earlobe with little nips of her teeth, but you somehow find the wherewithal to bite your tongue.

You want to tell her "fuck yes" in the best, most pleasurable way possible, but you're still not sure if getting off from this is worth screwing her over. You're used to passing off hunks of junk as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that couldn't be beat, but you'd be damned if you'd do the same to Lana—a sweetheart like her was worth at least ten of your worthless ass.

And yet...

Here she is, running her hands along your torso and branding the side of your neck with shiver-inducing kisses. You sure as fuck didn't beg for her to do this to you (at least, not out loud), and you certainly didn't pay her. No, she wants this...wants  _you._ As smart and beautiful as she is _,_ she somehow finds you worth her passion and devotion.

Did that really make accepting her advances okay?

...

...

You still aren't quite sure, but you've decided that you're tired of reading her mind, trying to figure out her limits on what's acceptable between the both of you—you'll cross that bridge when you get to it.

For now, the only part of her that you're interested in reading is her body.

With your  _hands_.

Speaking of hands, hers were leaving mind-numbing tingles in their wake, her fingers deftly pressing into the bare skin of your arms. The way her digits can make such mind-blowing friction only makes you want to cause her to shiver and moan the way she's been doing to you.

And despite the unspoken free access she's given you to make your move anywhere on her person, you decide that you don't want to gratify yourself with an obvious choice.

She stops her grinding and pulls away from your neck to look at you with her foggy eyes, and it's the perfect opportunity to seize the moment. Within seconds, you've drawn your hands towards her cheeks. The pink blush that coats them deepens in color when you slowly roll your thumb over her skin before you do the same thing to her collarbone and chin.

As downright alluring as everything else about her body was going to be once your grubby little paws got a hold of her curves, you weren't going to get there without touching the face of an angel first. And now that you know that you can get her to suck in shuddering breaths, tilt her head back, and sigh the sounds of heavenly bliss with a few strokes of your hands, you don't regret being a little patient.

Then, you tease the column of her throat with light sweeps of your fingers from one hand while the other slides underneath her ear as you watch her chest swell with gasps. She involuntarily tilts her head back again to let out another happy moan and you grin darkly at the result—her hat falls off her head in the process, exposing a field of untouched nerve endings underneath her tresses of golden, flowing hair.

 _Perfect_.

You reach forward to cup her cheeks again, this time using your grasp to pull her in closer. You stop her just before the tip of her nose could clip yours, but you don't let the halted momentum stop you for long. Her lust-clouded gaze almost ensnares you to the point of inactivity, but you push on through as you slide your palms from the sides of her face, weave your fingers through her hair, and skate your nails across her scalp.

She lets out another shaky breath that makes your cock swell and ache and it's that sound that finally breaks your will to take things a little slow. With her mouth still hanging open, you do the only thing that makes sense and lean in for a kiss as you both close your eyes.

You both swallow the sounds of your throaty moans as your lips brush against each other's and your tongues come out to mingle. Lana's is the first to push forward, slipping past your tongue to invade your mouth and flick the inside of your cheeks with playful licks.

You've always felt that you could never feel hotter than the days you're forced to shill out crappy convertibles in the dead of summer. But a few seconds of Lana impishly caressing the inside of your mouth practically melts your insides into quivering jelly. Your arms fall limp to your sides in surrender, and you're just barely reciprocating the fervor in your kiss.

She takes your surrender in stride, however, and starts doing that sexy little shimmy of her hips up and down your lap again—you feel her smirk against your lips when you mindlessly thrust your crotch up to meet her downward plunge.

The momentum clearly shifted in her favor not too long ago, but all you need is a few moments of reveling in the friction of your grinding bodies for your motor to rev up again as you quake with searingly hot tremors that jostle up and down your spine. While  _her_  hands cage you in as they splay against the couch,  _yours_ seek her waist. They firmly clasp around her, and before you know it, you're assisting her thrusts by pulling and pushing with her motions.

Even though your head is swimming in dizzy, drunken passion, you can still make out the finer details out of this experience.

The firmness of her body, even through the fabric of her overalls.

The softness of her lips, massaging the surface of your own.

The sweet vibrations of her moans buzzing down your throat.

The bubbling magma that courses through your leaking cock.

And...fuck, is she warm. And that's  _with_  her clothes on. You don't want to imagine how warm she'd be with them off, and that's only because you know that you no longer  _have_  to imagine.

But then, you start feeling lightheaded for reasons other than your kiss. Your lungs are burning, crying out for oxygen. For a split second, you consider just drowning in suffocation (wouldn't be the worst way to go), but you doubt that Lana wants a dead body on her conscience.

So, with one final, fleeting push against her lips, you pull back and firmly keep her hips in place before her grinding thrusts can send you over the edge. You're not far enough to escape the heat of her panting breath as it intertwines with yours. You gain the wherewithal to slowly open your eyes, and if not for the fact that you're already gasping for air from that kiss, the sight of Lana's face would've stolen your breath away.

Her slack mouth, flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes send another jolt straight to your core, even though you're sure you're brimming from pleasure already.

The hyperventilating between you two finally ceases, and you both match each other's dazed, droopy smiles.

"I-I'll...take that as a...'y-yes'," Lana says in a breathy whisper.

With an almost slurred edge to your voice, you counter with a bold claim—she hasn't come close to seeing what a "yes" means just yet.

Lana cups your face in her hands and steals a quick peck on your lips. "Oh yeah? Then show me."

Then, just to make her point, she gives you another downward thrust on your bulge, and you hiss through your teeth. "Show me  _everything_."

She slides off your lap, making sure to press her body firmly down as she does so. Even though she's off of you, her warmth has hardly left you—it's like she's still there, rocking back and forth against you and making your breath catch.

Except...she's not. No, she's standing before you now, eyeing you expectantly with a smirk.

"Well? You gonna take your slacks off or what?" She points at your pitched tent and snickers, and you feel your heart sink into your gut. "They look like they're gonna burst."

...

Oh. Oh,  _that's_  why she was snickering. Not because your...your dick was small or anything.

Right.

...

Yeah, you can be pretty frickin' stupid sometimes.

Thankfully, you're smart enough to know how to take your pants off, so you get to work on that with haste. You groan once the waistband tugs across your cock as you tug down. By now, your sweatpants are bunched around your ankles, exposing your polka dot boxer shorts and half of your swollen mast peeking through the slit. Lana doesn't waste time to put you on the spot with a wolf-whistle and a flirty remark.

"Man, no wonder I call you 'hoss'."

You feel your already reddened face flare up as a flattered, shy grin crosses your face. Said smile melts into an agape form when you see what she's doing now. While she's using her feet to kick off her shoes, both of her hands pinch her overall straps. Slowly, they glide to the metal clasps and undo them in the blink of an eye.

The straps loosen and slip down her shoulders, but her outfit clings to her, hugging onto the figure that completely fills it.

"Mind giving me some help?" she asks, beckoning you to come to her with a wave of her hand.

Before you can spring off the couch and fall on your face, you remember to shuffle out off your sweatpants and kick them off to the side. You decide to do away with your shirt while you're at it, and you don't have the presence of mind to be self-conscious about how small and wimpy your muscles probably look.

But then as you take a really good look at her, you realize that her mesmerized expression—as her gaze roams up and down your torso—means that she's a really fucking good actress and she's just pretending to be aroused or that she's actually digging what she's seeing.

You're in front of her before you can make a firm decision, but you don't see a reason to give a fuck about any of that when you've got such a task to do.

You hook your fingers into the fabric of her outfit by her armpits and pull down, peeling her overalls off. Her breasts, hidden under her baggy, gray shirt, pop out as you slip down her body with a slow crouch.

You finally reach her waist, and you swear you can hear her whimper as your face nearly brushes against her crotch. When you tug down even further, you nearly choke on your own spit—you can make out the outline of her glistening sex from underneath her white panties, adorned with cute little panda bear faces across the cotton fabric.

It's both the cutest and sexiest thing you've ever seen in your life. Who needs a premium account on xxxhardknockz.com with the scent of Lana's lust filling your nostrils and her arousal pooling into a shimmering stain in her underwear?

...

Which reminds you that you had better cancel that subscription once this was all over.

For now, you press on and slide her overalls further down, admiring her shapely, built thighs and calves. You can't help but lean forward, give the skin around her right kneecap a few kisses, and grin when her legs shiver.

She does the rest of the work and shimmies out of the overalls once they pool around her feet. Instead of placing her feet back in place right away, she uses a foot to gently push against your chest a few times. You get the message and look up, just in time to see her lifting her stained shirt over her head and tossing it over her shoulder.

Your dick twitches as you drink her in, from the subtle muscles in her slender tummy to adequate shape of her breasts that hide under her plain, white bra. A few nicks and scrapes plaster along her skin, most prominently on her left hip, but it can't mar her beauty.

Not a chance in hell.

"We gonna take this upstairs or..." Lana begins to say before she pauses and gestures over to the couch with a nudge of her head.

Your eyes widen in shock. Despite everything that's happened, it didn't hit you that she wanted "this" until she just came right out and said it. Now, you feel the pressure of expectation riding on the line—you can accept that she wants you now, but that doesn't mean you're about to disappoint her.

And you start with the best way you know as you stand up and literally sweep her off her feet by hoisting her up by her waist, pulling her close, and pressing your lips against hers. She immediately locks her toned legs firmly around your body and you nearly swoon from that alone.

Her clothed tits rubbing against your chest feel pretty fucking divine, and you amplify the experience by reaching down and grasping her round butt.

You'd love nothing more than to close your eyes and get lost in the kiss, but you have to keep them open for the journey ahead. Even though your bed's as cheap and ratty as it's always been, it still feels proper.

Besides, what better place to make pillow talk than in a room with pillows?

* * *

After taking your sweet ass time climbing up the stairs (nothing wrong with savoring the moment), you arrive at your bedroom.

Or rather, to your delight, to your  _open_  bedroom.

Thank Christ you decided to keep the door open beforehand for...whatever reason (laziness, probably?)—there was no way you were gonna take your hands away from Lana's curvy, doughy ass to open a closed door.

With the way she's fumbling her tongue around in your mouth and driving her hips against you, the surface of her butt nearly brushing against your cock, she either appreciates that accidental preemptive stroke of genius or she's horny as fuck.

The warm, sticky dampness that presses against your stomach from her thrusts tells you that it's definitely the latter.

As if sensing what was to come in just a few moments, she unlatches her mouth off of yours, only to bring it up to your ear.

"I'll run to the pharmacy and get a morning after pill after we're done," she murmurs, then gently nips your lobe. "So, don't hold out on me."

You breath a sigh of relief, but not before you feel like the biggest piece of shit on Earth. Fuck, you didn't even  _think_  about protection. You were too busy floating on cloud nine from getting your rocks off that the thought never crossed your mind.

Leave it Lana to pick up the slack.

Your self-deprecation could only last so long, though—with Lana Loud filling up your mind, body, and soul in a way you could only ever dream of, you weren't about to let your setbacks stop you from pleasing this woman to the absolute brink of ecstasy.

So, you make up for those lost seconds by guiding her inside your room, taking the moment not to leave her breathless with more kisses, but to simply look into her beautiful, blue eyes. You're not one to get a dreamy smile over anything but the rare bonuses you get in your meager paychecks, but Lana could always-

A fiery spiral of pain—pricked from three, metallic needles—suddenly racks up your leg through the rough flesh of your sole. You let out a curse and your grip on Lana loosens, but not enough to get you to drop her. You might as well have, though, because she immediately scrambles out of your grasp to land on the floor while you grab the injured foot in your hands and mumble incoherent, angry babble under your breath.

"You okay?! What happened?!" Lana cried, her arms wrapped around you in a tense hug.

Besides the pain subsiding sooner than you thought it would, it's her concern for you that forces you to tell her that you're not dying from some horrible disease or whatever. You didn't care to notice as you were leading her in, but...your room's a bit of a mess—chalk it up to being a lazy slob or being too bogged down from work to care about high maintenance on a daily basis. Either way, you let her know that what you stepped on was none other than the fork you used to eat out of your TV dinner from yesterday.

And that you couldn't be bothered to take care of it. Just like the pair of jeans that are draped on your desk.

And the empty Chinese takeout boxes littered around your bed.

And the...wow, is that a pair of your dirty underwear hanging over your desk lamp?

Man, you're a fucking pig. What  _else_  are you gonna make this poor woman go through today?

Before your swagger could get wrenched through the wringer any further, Lana assures you of her eagerness to comply with the situation, and she says it in a way that might as well be telepathy.

"I don't mind the mess. Trust me, my room's waaaaaay worse than this."

She pulls back and steps back a few times, taking care to avoid any sharp eating utensils along the way. Then, she stops in place to turn around—letting you get an ample, rotating view of her figure—beforeher back is facing you.

You fall back on old times as you sneak a glance at her derrière while she's not looking at you, which shortly comes to an end as she looks over her shoulder and points her cheeky smirk at you.

"So, if you're still up to getting down and dirty, you can take my bra off for me."

Your cock shrunk a little from that fork mishap, but the pain gets swept away from the resurgence of your arousal flaring up again. The big guy in your boxers salutes her invitation by sliding out through the slit again as you walk towards her, bad foot and all.

Now, she's facing away from you again as you press your body against hers, and you moan at how heavenly she feels—from the warmth that spreads into your chest through her back to the tantalizing way your cock nestles between her asscheeks, you're almost paralyzed by the sensations that ravage your senses like wildfire.

But you still have enough strength in your arms to unclip the bra strap and watch as her chest becomes as bare as yours once her bra flutters to the ground. Just one cursory look at the rosy peaks of her hardened nipples and the fullness of the milky flesh dips you in the thickest haze of your horny fog yet.

So much so that you dare to do more than she asked of you.

Your hands tremble with anticipation as they softly latch onto her waist, and your skittish fingers skimming her skin make her abs flutter. While one hand hardly ventures anywhere—only coming to trace tickling circles across her lower belly, your other hand has other plans. It smooths up the plane of her stomach before it cups the underside of her left breast.

You can faintly hear Lana gasp within the first second of contact, but you're otherwise as good as gone. The saggy flesh almost melts in your grasp yet it's firm enough for your kneading fingers to work her over like she was a lump of dough.

The pleasant contradiction only fuels your determination to draw out more sounds from her while you slide up against her, your dick rubbing against her ass in the process.

Time flows forward as slow as your fingers, massaging her body with as much tact as you only thought you could fantasize about while she stays idle and accepts your groping touches with moans. Your body demands that your other hand joins in the fray, and you don't refuse the offer of a lifetime.

Her once-neglected breast gets the same level of devotion as it's twin, albeit in the form of soft pinches and caresses of the nipple instead of a session of heavy squeezes like the other's been getting all along.

" _Aaaaaaah_ ," Lana moans happily, her body shivering.

You look down and get a glimpse of her flushed face, and the sight of her biting her lip after that moan makes you yearn to pleasure her more. You've been gazing appreciatively at her neck and shoulders for a while now, and you think your mouth should pay tribute.

You bring your lips down to her neck, and all it takes is a fleeting graze to make her jump a bit. You calm her nerves with a kiss, followed by another...and another...and another...

Along the way, you taste the salt in her sweat from a hard day's work, but it doesn't faze you in the slightest. If anything, you'd be glad to lick every inch of her skin to make sure that she was clean~

"W-wait," Lana says. "Hold...h-hold up."

She might as well be trying to hold a conversation with a deaf person because even though you truly hear her, your brain (much like the rest of you) is too overheated to send the right signals to you. Instead of stopping, you simply continue as if you hadn't heard anything.

"Please, hold...h-ho- _oooooooo..."_

Her droning hum finally snaps you out of your hypnosis, and you retract your hands away as fast as you possibly can. You have the presence of mind to take a step back and apologize for crossing the line.

For the second time today.

Only this time, you  _really_  did it. All she wanted was a little self-respect, and you couldn't even give her that.

...

But then again, if she were really upset, then she wouldn't be turning around not to condemn you to your face, but to smile and chuckle.

Would she?

"Guess you couldn't help yourself, huh, you big 'ol horndog?" Lana teases as she nudges your shoulder with her fists.

You're too flabbergasted to respond, at least verbally. The mild surprise on your face speaks volumes of your shock, though.

"Not that I don't appreciate the attention, but..." She steps forward, molding your bodies together once more and smearing her stomach with the precum from your leaky tip. "...I wanna make  _you_ feel good now."

Now more than ever, you know Lana Loud's too good for you, and that fact really hits you where it hurts when you come to understand just how much you and that arrogant fat bastard of a boss were alike.

He might be a miserly fat bastard who didn't deserve to have his fortune, but you're humbled by the realization that you're no better. You're just another fat cat that's gonna greedily gobble up his cream, and a few miserable shifts and your measly status on the corporate ladder wasn't gonna change that.

But for now, you'll gladly submit to whatever Lana has in store for you. And maybe, along the way, you'll cut out the worrywart, low self-esteem bullshit for half a second—even if you're not all that impressive, she wouldn't be doing this with you unless you were worth  _something_.

To her, at the very least.

You give her permission with a nod, and she does the rest from there. She takes you by the hand, leads you to your bed, and tells you to sit on the edge. You do so eagerly, and what she tells you to do next tips you off to what she plans on doing.

"If you feel like you're about to blow your load, just tap the back of my head," she says, then kneels in front of you on both knees.

You brace yourself for the time of your life when she hooks her fingers into your boxers and manages to slide them past your hips with rough tugs, despite the fact that you're sitting down.

Even though she's taking care of slipping them all the way down your legs, she's doing so while she stares nearly cross-eyed at your freed erection that twitches when you see her wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

She wraps her hand around your cock and gives it a squeeze. You can feel the hair in the back of your arms stand up and a hot blast of sensation shoot through your groin from that alone.

You tense up again as you feel a few more gentle squeezes, stroking up and down. As much as you want to look at her as she plays over your dick, your head is forced to lull back from the sensation.

It's clear she's only just getting started because she hasn't been using a terrible amount of force, and she's only been toying about with half of your length.

That changes when she starts to glide further down, her fingers no longer squeezing but dragging along with a tighter grip. You shudder once she finally hits your base as you feel electric tides up your spine—they forces your back to arch and your gut to coil with each heavy stroke.

After a few minutes, she begins to gently roll you around in little rotations. She's been making you pant and squirm this whole time, but this forces you to grab your sheets for purchase. It does little to help you brace yourself from the tendrils of combustion that burst with each passing second.

And then—just as your eyes flutter close—she begins to pick up the pace.

What was once a moderately brisk speed suddenly gets kicked up a notch—she's no longer stirring you around like a mixing spoon, but she makes up for it by pumping up and down like there's no tomorrow. You were fighting to take in as much as you could before you literally tapped out, but you can feel the end charging through like a runaway train.

Your arms—which have been propping you up this whole time—finally give out on you, and you fall back on the bed.

And just like that, the vigor in her strokes peter out. She's still giving you a fan-fucking-tastic tug but she's not giving it her all for whatever reason. You bring your chin up to your chest and find Lana's smirking face hovering right over your dick.

"Took you long enough," she says.

And before you can ask her—through your ragged breaths—what she was talking about, her tongue slips out of her mouth and gives your tip a slow lick. Her fleeting touch makes you thrash and let out a sharp, garbled cry as your head flies back.

She swipes up your precum with another lick, and...your pride be damned—you cry out her name to the heavens at a high octave.

You can't tell if she's flattered from the look on her face, but the small giggle she makes for the briefest of seconds tells the whole story.

And the building pressure that brims in your heaving chest—along with the twining feeling that's presently twisting in your balls—tells you that you're so close to reaching your limit. You know you're supposed to call it quits before you spray your cum all over her face, but you want to see how much you can hold on, to see if you could make it for just a few more-

And with just one long lick that caresses around your cock in a winding loop from the bottom to the top, you immediately reconsider the depths of your endurance and start reaching forward as fast as you can.

A few head taps later, and Lana frees you. Before she draws back completely, though, she gives her plaything a quick peck on its head. You watch as she grins at you, wholly satisfied with her performance.

"Awww, and I was gonna put you in my mouth, too," she whines half-heartedly. "Guess we can do that next time."

She stands up, and you look on as she glides those cute panda undies down her thick legs. You swallow and feel another twitch from your dick as her soaking lips come into view, stray drops of her juices trickling down her thighs. Her wild, bushy jungle of her pubic hair only turns you on even more.

"I need a little renovation job, some...interior decorating, if you will," Lana says, "And it looks like you've got the right tool for the job."

She scrambles onto your bed right next to you and gets on all fours, "Catch my drift?"

She shoots you a sexy look over her shoulder and winks, making sure to give her ass a wiggle for good measure. Whether that was her way of silently beckoning you forward or not, the appeal was magnetic enough to get you off your back and shuffling towards her on your knees.

Your breath catches as you grab her hips and pull in closer, the head of your cock a few inches away from her wet entrance. Even through the strands of her hair, you can still admire the slick sheen of her lips and the dark, ruby shade of her swollen clit.

You move over to her cheeks, and you can't help but give the flesh a few kneads before you spread them apart and divulge her sex further. Then, you close your eyes, breath through your nose, and jostle forward.

Her heat nearly consumes you, and all you've done is prod her opening. Your mouth nearly waters from imagining just how hot and tight she'll be once you venture further.

But for now, you're just content with grazing her lips, using your hand to grab your dick and guide your teasing strokes. You can see her twitching and fisting her hands into your blanket, but you know that she'll be begging for more soon enough.

With one last sweep against her clit, you pull your hand away before you barrel through until you're nearly sheathing yourself into her inner walls completely. The volume of her moan drowns yours out, but only because the sweltering heat of her secretions and velvety texture of vagina nearly swallows you in ecstasy.

You draw back again and drill through her again, and the sharp yelp she makes isn't loud enough to draw you out of your spellbound state—everything from the musky scent of her juices to her intense, blazing walls entraps you in a cycle of steady, firm thrusts that have her ass slamming into your crotch. She's almost matching your ferocity as she thrusts back in sync with your own.

You have to be careful, though. The spastic clenches that grab your dick will be your downfall if you don't pace yourself wisely. Still, you brave the storm and keep pounding into her like you were a jackhammer...

...drilling into your boss' windshield. Heh. That'd teach the fat fucker.

You experiment with swiveling hips, and her loud moans tell you that she appreciates your innovation. What she doesn't know is that you're not done surprising her.

You blindside her as you suddenly take one your hands off her hips and lean into her even more. You're tall enough to be able to grab one of her swaying breasts and roll it around in your firm grasp.

"Gaaaaaaah!" Lana cries out through shaky breath.

It shouldn't be possible for your dick to twitch when it's being compressed with such hot tightness but it does. More spine-tingling pulses bring you closer and closer to a climax between the minutes of your lovemaking, but they couldn't quite break your concentration to take notice.

Until now.

Your breathing becomes as heavy as hers has been this whole time, and you're baring your teeth tightly. As much sense as it makes to slow down a little and try to keep yourself from cumming, your lust overcomes reason.

Her blissful wetness can't prevent the friction from feeling so pleasantly rough and course nor can her panting, loud moans drown out the thumping of your heart as it pounds in your ears as hard as you're pounding into her.

Finally, you've bottomed out, and with a loud cry, you throw your head back and ripple through her passage with hot, molten streams of your jizz. She approaches her end a second after you do, her walls cinching your shaft harder than they ever have.

Her limbs are sapped of their strength, evidenced by how her shaky arms and legs give out on her and make her plop down on your mattress. You follow her descent to make sure that you don't slip out of her just yet.

You're too spent to do much moving beyond panting like a dog, but you're still able to muster enough strength to affectionately nuzzle her neck with your nose while she's pinned underneath you.

You hear her murmur contently from that, along with the request that you stay on top of her for just a little while longer.

Laying in bed with the woman of your dreams?

Basking in the afterglow of a reality that was better than buying a ticket with the winning numbers of a lottery jackpot?

Call it a hunch, but something tells you that...yeah, you can definitely manage that.

* * *

A whole ten minutes still isn’t quite enough to get you off your high—your head’s still brimming with lightheaded splendor, and your dumb-looking smile hasn’t gone away yet.

By now, Lana’s naked body is cuddled up to you at your side, her head resting on your chest while her eyes are shut. Neither have you have said a word to each yet, but that’s okay.

  
At least, it is for  _you_. You’ve had quite a lot of think about, namely how you’re no longer burning with the desire to ask her why, oh why, you’re the apple of her eye.   
  
In the end, you had to give respect for what she saw in you and trust that she was smart enough to know a bad deal when she spotted one. You couldn’t give credit to your “illustrious career” or “good looks” or anything that you’d think that she found admirable, but who were you to call her out on not “thinking straight”?

That didn’t mean you weren’t going to clean up your act, though. The shitty job and bad house had to go eventually. You’d toil the long, woeful hours with everything that you had, but you were no longer going to act as if you were stuck in a rut that was going to lock you in perpetual misery until you drew your last breath.

You’d look high and low for the opportunity to live better and to be proud of something truly special because Lana deserved one hundred percent of your effort, whether you were improving your lot in life or giving her the best sex of her life.

 _Hopefully_.

Speaking of Lana, you feel her starting to stir. Her hair tickles your nipple as she pivots her head up and opens her eyes. Her bangs slightly veil her gaze, and you’re grateful for the fact that nothing can shield her trembling smile from you.

  
“Hey,” she murmurs sleepily.

You reply with a few tender kisses on her forehead, and she giggles cutely. 

  
“Just so you know, if this was a way to get me to charge you at a cheaper rate, you just wasted your time,” she jokes.

As tempting as a playful retort is, your heart’s too filled with love to invest your energy into one. Instead, you tell her that the time you spend with her will never be a waste.

Though she rolls her eyes and snorts to give off an air of indignation, she’s blushing all the same.

"Guess you’re more of a teddy bear than I thought. Not that I’m complainin’.”

It’s your turn to turn red, and that goofy ass grin of yours only grows.

“Still,” she continues, “I’d rather have a mushy sap like you than some wannabe casanova like my ex was.”

Your curiosity gets piqued, just like it always does when you feel Lana’s about to go on a tangent and talk about herself and her close ones. You almost chuckle to yourself at how much of a good thing it is that you just earned her favor over the nameless douchebag she was sure to rip into. Otherwise, you might’ve gotten a little jealous.

Just a little.

“I met him on some dumb, dopey dating website that Lori talked me into using,” she explains. “ _I_  wanted to use PlumberMingle.com but  _she_  wouldn’t have it.”

You let out a laugh. Yeah, that sounded just like Lori. A bit air-headed, yes, but she had good intentions. Based on the way Lana would quote what she says, she could stand to stop using “like” and “totes” in almost every sentence, though. You might be a nitpicky asshole, but you’re sure the girl’s got a better vocabulary than...

Hold on…

The fashionista  _was_ Lori, right?

Right?

Uhh...fuck, you forgot. Dammit, this was  _not_  going to fly anymore. Now that you’re Lana’s boyfriend (?), you know you’ve got to do a way better job at remembering her sisters with perfect clarity besides Lola.

“But anyway,” Lana continues, “I started seeing this one guy because he was the only decent-looking one that popped up on my profile.”

She pauses and takes a second to ruffle your hair and kiss you on the cheek.

“But you’re way cuter than him,” she says before resuming. “Anyway, about a month into our relationship, he decides to tell me the  _real_  reason why he had any interest in me at all. Apparently, he’s got this kink he’s always wanted to try out—dude’s got a fetish for threesomes when twins are involved. Needless to say, I dropped him like a bad habit.”

And good for her, you tell yourself. If that brainless twit wasn’t smart enough to see Lana as more than a conquest for a twenty minute fling, then he could get fucked.

“And you know, even if I was interested, there’s no way that Lola would’ve gone for it. One, she can’t stand dudes with facial hair, and that guy’s chin was practically marinated in the stuff. Two, Lola’s got a girlfriend. Three, she-”  
  
You cut her off by holding up your hand and laying the palm of your other hand on top of it, forming a capital "T".  
  
A "T" for "Timeout! You said _what_?!"  
  
She stares at you with mild bewilderment for a few seconds, and then the look clears up as her face brightens.

“Oooooooh, right. Duh, I never told you. Lola’s bisexual.”  
  
Okay, now you're _really_ interested. Something tells you that you and Lola are gonna be seeing a lot of each other pretty soon (what with you seeing her twin sister like this), so you're naturally interested in getting as much detail as your hopeful sister-in-law as possible.  
  
And besides that, you're comfortable in the familiarity of it all. You might have just taken your relationship to the next level, but that doesn't mean that the gold-paved roads that led you to this point have lost their shine in anyway.  
  
So, you simply lay back and let Lana spin one of the many yarns that you hoped would come to pass in the future.  
  
“Yeah, it surprised us when she came out, especially when we found out who she was dating behind our backs at the time. See, it all started back in middle school. Lola was still competing in junior pageants, and she had just finished performing her ribbon dance on stage. Then, when she gets back to the dressing room, she accidentally walked in on her rival, Lindsey Sweetwater, changing. And then...”


End file.
